


Dating Game

by FuturePSotUS



Series: The Game of Life [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:53:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuturePSotUS/pseuds/FuturePSotUS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is a vicious motivator. But what is love really? Suddenly Sherlock finds it advantageous to do a little research into what us people do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dating Game

Despite his successful experiment on masturbation techniques, Sherlock Holmes remained woefully unpracticed when it came to relationships. Five minutes ago, such a deficit in first-hand knowledge didn’t bother the detective, after all people acted in a series of dull and predictable behaviors. Woman kills man, man cheated. Man kills woman, woman cheated. But five minutes ago he and John Watson hadn’t kissed. And five minutes ago Sherlock Holmes, in a moment of brilliance, hadn’t in rapid succession frozen, pulled away, and fled the room.

_Smooth Sherlock, a mature, elegant, and not at all a confusing response._

Now that they kissed. Now…. well John had kissed Sherlock at any rate. And Sherlock had, against all reason and previous theory, enjoyed it. Probably. Mostly. Yes, yes he had enjoyed it. But it was confusing.

_I think…._

But all he knew of relationships certainly wouldn’t be enough to enter into one himself. So before he could move forward with John Sherlock need to understand the rules by which he’d be expected to play because while a flatmate could easily brush off a night of silence Sherlock didn’t think the same would be true of a lover.

_The game changes and the rules change with it. Figure out the rules and you can win the game. Easy enough._

 

Step one- Preventative measures.

Sherlock sent off a quick text: **[SMS to J.W.]** That was pleasant. Mostly. However, more research needed. Will send updates as they come. SH

 

Step two- Secondary research.

Reaching for his laptop the consulting detective headed to no fewer than five of the most prominent women’s advice sites to browse through their contents. He’d seen Anthea page through each of their magazines at least once and while his brother’s PA didn’t have the best track record with boyfriends she was certainly ahead of him. Headlines from each site showed list after list full of advice, “10 New Ways to Please Your Man,” “100 Sexiest Things You Can Do to Spice Up Your Love Life,” “18 Positions We Guarantee Will Rock Your World.” He opened a few only to roll his eyes and move-on within minutes, if this was where the women of Britain got advice on their love lives then perhaps he should begin frequenting A&E’s for interesting examples of sexual trauma.

Trying again Sherlock googled, ‘how to attract a mate,’ only to actually shut the computer in frustration after scrolling through only three articles. Drivel, all of it. Absolutely useless pseudo-science masquerading as actually peer proofed intellectually considered fact. Arse gravy of the worst sort—

_hold—that’s not mine—search “quotes”—search “television”—QI—Stephen Fry—flag—reorder under “trivia, non-essential.”_

Clearly the internet was not the place to learn in this instance. He’d have to do legwork.

 

Step three- Primary Research.

Pausing to put his wallet and phone in his jacket pockets Sherlock flew from his room and with only a “Research” thrown over his shoulder to his jilted blogger as he ran down the stairs. Once down the street the genius realized he hadn’t formulated any sort of plan for said research. In his previous experiment the internet had been the obvious tool for information gathering but dating… dating would require more subtly than a dildo up the ass. As he thought Sherlock instinctively wandered into the park where he immediately observed several couples strolling around the ground or sitting on benches. Field observation- perfect.

Settling himself onto a bench by the water Sherlock looked around for his first target. A couple in their mid-forties sharing a tea break caught his eye-

_Mid-forties, married for less than ten years, two children close in age and under eight. They never stop fighting. He’s a clerk and she’s a nurse. Decent income but not a lot left over. It’s a bit of a hike for her to get to the park in time for tea. Anniversary then._

The couple kissed briefly and stood, their hands immediately joining as they moved to throw away their cups and leave the park.

_Touching, holding hands, signs of affection and reassurance a connection still exists between the pair. I could do that._

Sherlock made a mental note on the importance of touching.

Time for another subject, the consulting detective again scanned the park this time settling on a young couple.

_Still at university but in their final year, in London for the day, second— no third date and both are nervous about tonight. They’re lost, an excellent test for any relationship. She’ll pull out her phone in- hm a paper map. Always something._

Sherlock continued to watch the couple as they wandered the same section of the park with feigned nonchalance while attempted to find their way. The two bickered lightly, smiles never leaving their faces, and their hands continued to brush until finally in one swift movement the male took the females hand.

_Touching. I already know about hand holding and touching. What else, what else._

He wished he were closer to the two and could hear them but the park was not full enough for him to trail them without attracting notice. He’d have to return on a weekend when the place would be crawling with couples and families taking advantage of the crisp fall weather.

Still the afternoon hadn’t been an entire waste. Now he had some idea of the research he needed to do and the skills he’d need to learn to become a suitable partner for John. If only he could think of something to say to the Army doctor in the interim.


	2. Flirting with the Sensei

From his field observations it was clear that flirting played a prominent role in dating. Verbal banter between both participants in the relationship would require Sherlock to lower his discourse a bit but John was far smarter than most and quick to follow where he led so the consulting detective supposed he could make a sacrifice.

Again, Google proved a valuable tool when beginning his research but this time he was prepared for the point where he could learn no more about “complimenting his partners best physical traits.” So Sherlock texted Anthea. Even if the PA didn’t have time to date she still had plenty of experience with the subject. In addition, the consulting detective knew of John’s soft spot for his brother’s PA and was far more willing to reach out to her than one of the doctor’s ex’s.

**[SMS to A]** How did you flirt with John? SH

**[SMS to A]** When you first met him I mean. SH

**[SMS to A]** You had better not be flirting with him now. SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** I didn’t flirt with your boyfriend.-A

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** He flirted with me.-A

**[SMS to A]** Immaterial. You know how to flirt. Teach me. SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** Only if you call me sensei.-A

**[SMS to A]** In person or during this “lesson”? SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** Not during the lesson, unless you want one on roleplaying.-A

**[SMS to A]** I can never tell how serious you are. I will agree to calling you sensei once, in person, in front of my brother. But you can’t explain why to him. SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** It’s part of my charm.-A

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** Do you want to know how to flirt in person or via text?-A

**[SMS to A]** I want to flirt in person but learn via text. Are you good enough to do that? SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** Yes. I assume you are aiming to flirt with Doctor Watson?-A

**[SMS to A]** Clearly. SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** Alright.-A

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** You’re already friends, so you’ll be able to skip, what would have been, awkward bit. What does he like? Besides you.-A

**[SMS to A]** My mouth? We kissed. Many traits others kind abhorrent he tolerates with surprising equanimity. SH

**[SMS to A]** He enjoys horrible movie franchises. SH

As Sherlock thought about what things his blogger enjoyed he glanced across the room to where the man sat. John, to his enormous credit, hadn’t said a word about their kiss or Sherlock’s reaction to it. He’d acted neither distant nor resentful towards the consulting detectives actions, instead plodding through life normally, making tea, watching telly, reading medical journals. Tea was something he could do now. It may not technically count as flirting but… he had to start somewhere. Still texting he moved to the kitchen.

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** Bond? Use your knowledge of that to create double entendres. Even if ridiculous. -A

**[SMS to A]** That’s attractive to people? SH

**[SMS to A]** Puns. This is your advice? SH

As he boiled water Sherlock saw John’s head perk up and his back straighten before the smaller man consciously forced himself back into his previous position. Sherlock hardly had to be a genius to see the thought process, “If I notice he may stop.” He shook his head, he was hardly a dog or a child. He would make tea for them both whether John watched or not.

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** People like being made to laugh. What is your goal with John? Sex?-A

**[SMS to A]** I want him to stay. SH

**[SMS to A]** And be happy. SH

**[SMS to A]** Plus sex. SH

**[SMS to S Holmes]** A relationship. Well, flirting alone won’t do that.-A

**[SMS to A]** I have other plans. This is only the beginning. SH

**[SMS to A]** Now teach me to flirt. Step one: puns. SH

The kettle clicked and Sherlock poured the boiling water into cups already prepared with tea bags, timing them to steep perfectly before disposing of the bags, adding milk to John’s and walking them back. The doctor’s amazement was palatable as the cup was handed to him and Sherlock rolled his eyes as he resettled on the sofa to continue his lesson with Anthea.

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** Dirty puns. And compliments. -A

**[SMS to A]** Yes that’s what the internet told me. “Compliment his best physical features.” SH

**[SMS to A]** Seems a bit shallow. Also easy. There really isn’t more to it? SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** It helps that your chosen subject already fancies you.-A

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** Touch him, use your body to show how interested you are. -A

**[SMS to A]** That would have been more useful before I made him tea. But touching. I can touch. That’s non-verbal flirting then. SH

**[SMS to A]** Inappropriate while in public? SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** You can touch his arm, back of neck, waist ect. Holding hands maybe a bit much for him early in the relationship.-A

**[SMS to A]** I can do all of this. Easily and without disrupting the current routine. SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** Don’t think of this as disturbing anything. Think of it as adding to it. It’s another level of your relationship.-A

**[SMS to A]** Thank you for the advice Sensei, I shan’t update you on how it goes. SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** I still get one sensei reference in person, with Mycroft.-A

**[SMS to A]** As we agreed. SH

**[SMS to S. Holmes]** Have fun. Let me know if you want to practice in person.-A

Touching, compliments, acts of thoughtfulness, all of these Sherlock could handle with ease. Why did so many people need so much advice when all it took to flirt was a few pointed tips? He shook his head and pocketed his phone, he could easily integrate everything Anthea had suggested into his daily routine. He’d already made tea today. That left a compliment and a touch. Or perhaps he should wait? This seemed the sort of thing he’d need to ease into, both for his sake as well as John’s. If his blogger had troubles believing he’d voluntarily made tea, a hand on his neck or a comment about his eyes could prevent him from sleeping for a week.

Slow and steady was the way to go. And in the meantime he had more research to do.

 


	3. Cooking with Angelo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter. I was at 221B Con last weekend and have been mired in work this week. Hopefully the rest of the chapters will update more frequently. Thanks for your patience!

All his sources, primary and secondary, agreed that a few things were vital to maintaining a healthy and happy relationship. One of those things was a home-prepared meal. So Sherlock set himself a goal, eight hours in which he had to plan, prepare, and serve a meal that would quality as a "romantic dinner in."

Being Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world, the dinner also had to meet his exacting standards.

As always research came first. "Romantic dinner for two," "how to cook a romantic dinner at home," and "most romantic home-cooked meal," joined the rest of the ridiculous search terms this study had planted in his browser history. Once again, Sherlock was thankful John never reciprocated his habit of appropriating whatever laptop was closest as the doctor’s inevitable teasing would make Sherlock regret his research.

However, none of the searching he did turned up anything other than the predictable trite results he expected from such an average world; wine, vegetables, meat, grain, maybe soup if the site had pretensions, and then desert.

Well the formula was easy enough to spot, he'd have to make the challenge more difficult some other way. And so recipes came under his scrutiny next. Sherlock refined his search terms and began looking for a suitable main course. French and Italian popped up most frequently although many of the 'hipper' sites suggested these were too dull and instead pushed for Thai or Korean recipes in their place. But Sherlock had French blood in him and knowing John, he'd enjoy what  could be interpreted as an added layer of symbolism in the dinner.

John liked meat. Sherlock liked a challenge. Coq au vin seemed to fit both bills. John liked sweets but no chocolate. Sherlock still liked a challenge. Napoleons for dessert then. Haricot verts fit the bill as a French vegetable. Sherlock dismissed the idea of a soup, John would be confused enough as it was by a home cooked meal, anything with courses may actually break his brain. A few recipes showed Sherlock that freshly made bread would require more than his eight hour time limit and so he conceded to buying both bread and wine.

Shopping list prepared he left the flat for Tesco’s but it didn’t take long before he found himself overwhelmed by the choices of each ingredient on the shelf. And although there were those of his acquaintance (Sally Donovan first came to mind) who didn't believe he knew how to do so, Sherlock quickly asked for help.

 

 **[SMS to Angelo]** What type of flour is best for the cookie portion of a Napoleon? SH

 **[SMS to Angelo]** Also sugar. And strawberries, fresh or frozen? SH

 **[SMS to Angelo]** Why are there so many different cuts and grades of meat? This butcher is a hack. SH

 **[SMS to Angelo]** Come here at once, I require an expert.SH

 **[SMS to Sherlock]** Making a nice dinner in eh? John’s a lucky man.

 **[SMS to Angelo]** Irrelevant. Tesco’s by Baker Street. SH

**[SMS to Sherlock]** Of course it is. ahaha b there soon.

 

Together the two men completed Sherlock’s list and headed back to Baker Street, Angelo insisting on accompanying his friend to advise him on the entire cooking process. “John deserves the best,” he’d said and then waved off all of Sherlock’s protests that he was more than competent to do it on his own, “You’re not even French!”

“Sherlock this is hard, you need supervision. Trust me.”

Grudgingly Sherlock bowed to the chef’s point, no point wasting time arguing. He now had only six hours in which to prepare an ambitious meal.

The pair worked side by side. Sort of.

After a brief fight the chef agreed to refrain from doing anything other than offering verbal guidance, Sherlock wanted to serve a meal he’d made. So Angelo directed Sherlock’s movements, using his “superior knowledge” to keep the consulting detective on schedule. True to form, Sherlock mixed absolute concentration on his task with an admirably creative set of insults for his teacher. But the Italian man held his own, one of the reasons why his pupil respected him. To start with he twisted his promise to stay hand’s off by both refusing to help clean the kitchen and refusing to begin advising until the kitchen was cleaned.

But soon enough the cooking portion of his plan was moving smoothly. Sherlock blanched his bacon under Angelo’s watchful gaze before adding it to the pan with onion and chicken. The chef guided him through the process of siphoning off the fat and adding the rest of the stock before bustling the man over to another counter to begin creating his desert.

“Moderate heat, Sherlock- moderate, that’s high,” Angela moved forward to turn the heat down but his hand was slapped away by the consulting detective.

“It’s fine,” the gangly man snapped back, “As long as I remove it from the heat soon enough it won’t change the chemical process occurring.”

The chef sighed heavily, in his most put upon voice, “Cooking- it’s not a science. It’s a art.”

“An art,” correct Sherlock.

One eyebrow raised up, “I am the chef. You are the pupil. Cooking is a art. Capiche?”

Both of Sherlock’s brows came up, “Capiche,” he repeated slightly awed.

Back on track the sauce was turned to moderate heat and the waiting game began. Everything half-finished the consulting detective moved to leave the kitchen only to find his way barred, “Now we clean.”

No argument from Sherlock.

Side by side this time they stacked, washed, and dried the used kitchenware using time so effectively that they finished nearly concurrent with the oven’s timer.

“Don’t tip it, hold it steady,” warned Angelo as Sherlock separated the liquid from the meat and herbs, “Right now for the mushrooms-”

“And then turn the heat up and reduce the sauce,” finished the consulting detective. “I know.”

Things moved smoothly forward and soon the dish was resting on warm in the oven next to a casserole of potatoes. On top of the stove rested a cooking pot of haricot verts. His desert sat cooling in the fridge, two plates of berried and sugared perfection.

“Right thank you,” Sherlock prepared to bundle Angelo out the door but the Italian man held firm against him.

“You need to set the table Sherlock.”

“We never use the table,” he waved one hand dismissively.

“You never cook either,” reasoned Angelo.

Sherlock set the table.  

Having pushed Angelo out the door Sherlock moved to shower quickly. He could feel the grease and steam of the day’s activities on his skin, clinging to his hair and around his nails. But before he left he took a picture of the fully set table.

 **[SMS to J.W.]** Update number 2.  <<attached photo>>

 **[SMS to Sherlock]** #2??? What was 1???

 **[SMS to Sherlock]** Sherlock??????

 

 **[SMS to J.W.]** Apologies. I was showering. Dinner is ready when you’re home.

 **[SMS to J.W.]** Tea.

 **[SMS to Sherlock]** Tea for dinner??

 **[SMS to J.W.]** No John. Number 1 was tea. Now come home for dinner.

**[SMS to Sherlock]** On my way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are some of the most difficult French recipes I could think of. If you're interested in trying your hand here are links to them.  
> http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Coq-au-Vin-51133420  
> http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Strawberry-Napoleons-103410  
> http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Almond-Lace-Cookies-103403


	4. Kissing Molly

A rousing and unqualified success, dinner spurred Sherlock forward in his quest to personally acquire all of the knowledge required to be a suitable partner for John. With scheduled precision he made sure to compliment or otherwise positively acknowledge his flatmate’s existence in his life.

**[SMS to J.W.]** I wish you were a fireman and not a doctor.

**[SMS to Sherlock]** If the flat’s on fire again I’ll kill you Sherlock.

**[SMS to J.W.]** I’m offended.

**[SMS to Sherlock]** Ok I’ll bite… why do you wish I was a fireman?

**[SMS to J.W]** Because looking at you this morning set me on fire and now there’s no one to put it out.

 

**[SMS to J.W.]** Not good?

**[SMS to J.W.]** I knew sexy puns wouldn’t work.

 

**[SMS to Sherlock]** No! No, patient not you. That was amazing. Really fantastic. I may print it out and frame it.

**[SMS to J.W.]** No need to patronize me.

**[SMS to Sherlock]** I’m not. I’m serious. That wasn’t sexy at all but damn if it wasn’t the funniest thing. Maybe save puns for later on. Work on other stuff.

**[SMS to J.W.]** Like what?

**[SMS to Sherlock]** Kissing?

**[SMS to Sherlock]** If you’re comfortable with it of course- I don’t want to push you into anything.

**[SMS to Sherlock]** Not that you’ve even been pushed into anything you didn’t want to do in your life.

**[SMS to J.W.]** Yes I need to fix the kissing. The first was did not go well. Thank you for your input.

**[SMS to J.W.]** Have a good day at work.

 

A new goal then. Learn to kiss.

It made sense when the consulting detective sat down to think (smoke) the problem out. He and John had exchanged one kiss, initiated by the doctor, and ended hastily as Sherlock broke away effectively ruining ‘the moment.’ ‘The moment,’ he’d come to learn was paramount. Indefinable until one was a part of it, it was where ‘lasting memories’ were made. Sherlock needed to make a new moment or perhaps he should re-create the old one? How would he know the proper choice? What would happen if he chose wrong? Mind palace Mycroft spoke up, eager to assist,  _“Does it even matter? You don’t know how to kiss. He won’t enjoy himself.”_

His stomach churned unpleasantly. He measured his pulse, a resting beat of 81, higher than the usual 74. And had it suddenly gotten hotter in the flat? Horrified, Sherlock realised his body was exhibiting signs of nerves. The realisation drove his pulse up to 83.

Hurriedly he divorced his mind from the body, narrowing his focus down, down, down, down until he could analyze each response and find a cause for the overall problem.

_Did the idea of kissing John (a lot) create such a reaction? Yes._

_Did the idea of kissing John (just once) create such a reaction? Yes._

_Did the idea of kissing create the same reaction? Yes._

_Not a John specific issue then._

 

The consulting detective repeated the process until he could state with reasonable certainty that his nerves stemmed from the knowledge that he wasn’t confident in his ability to orally please a partner. _“Just as I said,” taunted Mycroft._

“Shut up,” bit out Sherlock.

“Oh! Sorry! I hadn’t actually- you know- said anything. You know, um, just yet,” came a voice.

The genius bolted out of his chair, “Molly! Yes. Good you’re here. Just like I asked-”

“You didn’t actually, I’m here-”

“-nevermind that,” his hands flew around erratically and he paced short tight circuits in front of the fireplace. “You’re here and I need you. You’ve got to teach me how to kiss.” Abruptly he stopped moving and turned to face her, making unblinking eye contact as the pathologist gaped openly.

Her face flushed immediately and she squeaked, “What?”

Sherlock huffed at the request to repeat himself, “I need you to teach me how to kiss.” His enunciation of every word was nothing short of demeaning to his friend.

Rightly suspicious Molly questioned him, “Why?”

“Because I need to know how.” He recognized her continuing hesitance, “I know how to do so theoretically of course, I’ve read plenty on the subject and I’ve watched-”

“No,” Molly cut him off with a renewed blush, “no, why do you need to learn how to kiss now?”

It was his turn to be uncomfortable, “Because I do.”

The pathologist leveled him with a surprisingly stern look and in turn Sherlock sat back down heavily and played his trump card, “Please?”

Predictably, she relented. Sitting across from him in John’s chair Molly fidgeted quietly for a moment but then seemed to draw herself together, “So, do you want me to just,” she gesticulated between them vaguely.

“I don’t know,” the consulting detective replied, “that’s why I’ve asked your help.”

“Right, right,” she lapsed into silence again.

With a sudden burst of desperation Molly got up, took the step necessary to cross the carpet between chairs, leant into Sherlock’s personal space, grabbed his chin to tilt his face upwards, and pressed her lips to his. Nerves made the kiss start with a harsh pressure, lips pressed against lips so that their teeth pressed against each other despite the skin between. But after forcing herself to calm some, she lessened the pressure and set about teaching through example.

Nothing but their lips met, Molly dropped her hands to the arms of the chair as soon as Sherlock tilted his head upwards to meet her’s. Slowly she moved her lips, still closed, against his waiting for him to mimic her actions before changing the angle or pressure. As soon as the consulting detective caught on he wanted to learn more, opening his mouth in the assumption that his teacher would do the same.

Caught up in the feeling of a dream come to life Molly followed his lead and the two kissed deeply for several minutes until she forgot her purpose and threaded a hand into Sherlock’s hair. The moan he gave as she tugged brought the pathologist back to her senses and she stumbled backwards, tripping into John’s hair.

“Fascinating,” mused Sherlock entirely composed despite his ruffled locks.

Molly replied, “Mmm,” still confused as to what had happened.

“Right well,” he stood and moved to find his slipper full of cigarettes, “Thank you for that Molly. I-- appreciate the demonstration. Most useful. Most instructive.”

“Mmm,” she said again.

“I’ve got to run to the shops, we’re out of milk, feel free to stay as long as you need.” He gave her a long look, “Glasses are in the cupboard to the right of the sink. There’s a pitcher of ice water in the fridge.”

“Mmm.”


	5. Holding Hands with Mrs. Hudson

He’d chickened out.

How did one simply walk up to a person and kiss them? How had John done it? Stubbornly, he refused to completely give up; Sherlock Holmes didn’t fail at things. Perhaps in his eagerness he’d simply skipped a step? Skipped the most important step. The step that created ease of movement and physical comfort with another person. And so with his usual tenacity Sherlock continued his campaign of food and compliments all the while desperately searching to find out where in his education he’d gone astray.

But Molly hadn’t returned any of his calls and the consulting detective didn’t want to owe Anthea another favour so soon after the last. Which is how, at a quarter to eight in the morning, Mrs. Hudson found her favourite tenant pacing circuits around his flat, hands flying, hair mussed, and robe billowing behind him at every turn.

“Something wrong dear?”

He ignored her, muttering under his breath, “Compliments, kind gestures, food,---” his words paused and his hands jerked upwards, “--kissing. Compliments, kinds gestures, food--”

“Hand holding, dear,” Mrs. Hudson filled in his blank as she gathered a load of old newspapers into her arms to bin.

All at once Sherlock stopped moving, his spine straightened and his hands fell, hanging loose and open at his sides. “Hand holding?” He held his own hands up and flexed them once, as if testing their ability to bend in the correct manner.

The landlady smiled softly and shook her head. Sitting on the couch she patted the cushion next to her, “Come here,” as he sat she snugged herself right up to the young man and took his hand. “You can hold hands like this,” she cupped his fingers around her own, “or like this-” she spread his fingers and intertwined hers between them. “It all depends on personal preference.” Settling back and picking up the remote, Mrs. Hudson tugged Sherlock with her, refusing to let go of his hand.

“Now what?” Sherlock held up their combined hands and squeezed a bit.

“Oh anything really, take a walk, sit and read, watch telly. My husband used to grab my hands be--”

Cutting her off he exclaimed, “But why?” Sherlock struggled with the idea that simply connecting his palm to another person’s could be the ‘missing link’ in his research. “How is this pleasurable in any way?”

_ Physical touch calms animals, it reasonable to extrapolate it soothes people as well. You’ve read studies where it’s actually created noticeable differences in previously comatose people. Yes but why? This is simple, this shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t do anything! _

The older woman shook her head with a look of resignation, “We’re close,” she pressed against him infinitesimally, “We’re connected. You know I’m here with you.”

Looking at the young man again she tried a different tactic, not totally unaware of the small changes occurring between her two tenant, “It’s a beginning. You start by holding his hand, then you move to touching more of one another, then eventually it’s not enough and you just want to rip one anothers clothes off. In my case Mr. Hudson and I did very little of the first two bits, skipped right to the third. Probably not the best idea in retrospect. Now shush, I’m going to watch my programme and you are going to sit here quietly and hold hands with me.”

Sherlock did as he was told.

At the end of the hour his hand was moist and his pinky throbbed at the second knuckle. Worst of all he now had to delete an entire sixty minutes worth of knowledge on the sexual habits of pubescent East London school children as well as several more potent images of Mr.Hudson’s hands. Speaking of- Mrs. Hudson still hadn’t let go of his. Sherlock tugged a bit but the woman held on.

“I still don’t understand it,” he complained.

Finally releasing him, Mrs. Hudson smooth a stray curl before standing and brushing off her skirt, “Just try it with John luv. Trust me.”

\---------------------

As was now his habit, the consulting detective made John a cup of tea, perfectly doctored, just before he got home. Setting the cup down next to the faded tartan chair he retreated to his room. Laying on the bed, hands clasped over his lips, Sherlock heard the front door open and close, the heavy tread of John’s feet on all seventeen steps up to their flat, the rustling of John’s coat coming off, and the subsequent sigh of peace that came as he found his tea.

He had to try. Nothing tried nothing gained, that was the phrase right? Perhaps it was nothing taken nothing gained? Never mind. He needed to redeem himself, even if he was the only one who knew of his earlier failure.

Exiting his room and sitting on the sofa with his usual flourish Sherlock waited for acknowledgement. When it didn’t come he took a longer look at his flatmate.

“You haven’t had anything more serious than a nut allergy in two weeks and we haven’t had a case in that time either so you’re feeling useless. Add onto that my erratic behaviour and you’re worried that you’ve ruined things between us and I’m attempting some sort of elaborate apology before letting you down gently.”

John through him a look that bordered on real anger, “Can you just not. Just. Not today Sherlock yeah?”

“It’s all rather stupid of you to assume,” continued the consulting detective.

“Sherlock,” John’s voice pitched upwards and he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and quell the throb of his temples.

The black-haired man lowered his voice, “And you’ve a migraine. Come here,” when John looked around as if Sherlock was pranking him, the consulting detective’s voice picked up again in impatience, “Please come here?”

Startling only a little the doctor did as bid and settled himself on the opposite end of the couch. Sighing dramatically Sherlock moved over and twined his fingers through his doctor’s, “It’s stupid of you because you know me,” he continued, ignoring the previous interruption, “You know I never apologise and you know that if I didn’t want this I’d have no trouble telling you so, quite bluntly too I’d imagine.”

Still struck by both the please and their linked hands the shorter man only responded, “Um, yeah.”

Remembering his lesson, Sherlock sunk back on the sofa and pulled John with him, propping his feet up on the coffee table and resting his head on the back of the couch. “Now shush, your head needs quiet.”

They sat, sides pressed together and hands linked, in silence on the sofa for some times before Sherlock moved. Shoving one leg behind John’s back and scooting back so he rested in the V made by the arm and the back, he again pulled the doctor with him, nudging the blond man until he understood and made himself comfortable against Sherlock’s chest. Running one hand rhythmically through John’s hair, Sherlock made a mental note to give Mrs. Hudson flowers sometime in the near future.

_ Closeness breeds closeness. I get it.  _


	6. John Talks About Finding a Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the wait with this chapter. I was out of work sick in bed all last week and you can imagine how not-at-all conducive that is to writing! 
> 
> As an apology you're getting two chapters today! Thanks for your patience.

Without meaning to Sherlock and John settled into a new routine; while John worked Sherlock tended to various experiments and small cases all the while keeping up a stream of texts informing his doctor of his progress, things he liked about John, things he missed, and of course the occasional thing he wished to change.

Once the former army doctor returned home to Baker Street he’d sit down to a cup of hot tea, maybe a few biscuits or crisps, and Sherlock playing the violin.

At first it was nice, at first it was calming, at first it was exactly what John had fantasised about whenever Sherlock wasn’t making tea, eating, or playing the violin ( **properly** playing the violin). But soon nice, calming, and all those other pleasant adjectives began to worry him. Haltingly, with lots of stumbling and muttering he attempted to address the issue on his next day off.

“So you’ve made a lot of changes lately. And other than a few texts to me, which were usually in the form of an order, not the best idea by the way, but you haven’t really talked to me about any of it.”

Sherlock blinked at him.

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out of his nose loudly John tried again, “I’ve really- er- enjoyed a lot of this but- er- I’m a- still a bit worried that it’s all just some form of apology.”

More blinking, this of a more angry nature.

“Right- still not an apology then. Ok so we’re back to changes. Lots of them. And very little talking about the changes.”

This time instead of blinking at John’s pause Sherlock turned around and returned his violin to its case before moving to the sofa. When the doctor didn’t immediately follow he purposely patted the cushion to his left.

Becoming slightly fed-up with Sherlock’s silence (and somehow more comfortable because of his annoyance) John moved across the room and sat down heavily next to his flatmate. “Now will you talk to me?”

The world weary breath Sherlock forced from his nostrils did even more to annoy, and in turn comfort, John.

“What do you want to know?”

“What it all means. Why you’re doing all this- stuff. When you were planning on telling me about what you’re doing. Anything really since, you know, you haven’t said a word yet.”

The response was measured, Sherlock seeming to choose each word carefully from a different shelve in his mind palace, “I would have thought that this is- above any other- the sort of circumstance in which ‘action speak louder than words.’ But if you need more qualification,” he paused and lingered over the silence even more. “I enjoyed, I think I enjoyed our- your kiss. but lacking the necessary background knowledge to make an informed decisions I have been educating myself over the course of the last few weeks in order to rectify the situation so that we can proceed.”

Now John starred.

“And you never thought to tell me any of this because…”

“It isn’t relevant to you. Once my learning process is complete I will inform you and we can enter into a successful partnership.”

The doctor shook his head fondly, “We’re already in a successful partnership Sherlock.”

“Well if you wish to be pedantic about it-”

“I don’t think wanting to talk is pedantic-”

“Then I will clarify that once I finished educating myself we may enter into a successful sexual partnership.”

On a whim John shifted, putting his feet up on the arm of the sofa, and resting his back against Sherlock’s side. Hiding a smirk at the consulting detective’s non-response, he took initiative and pulled Sherlock’s arm out from behind him, securing it around over his shoulder and curling long fingers into his belt loops.

“So you went through uni only reading textbooks then? No practical experiments?”

_Thank God he’s done talking about emotion, it shouldn’t be unreasonable for me to study the everyday condition of those in love before embarking--- this is a metaphor. He’s using metaphor to instigate a ‘teaching moment.’ Dammit._

“You know I didn’t. Metaphor John, it’s tedious.”

The doctor chuckled, “And yet look how relevant it is! You’re not going to learn everything you need to know by simply studying. We learn by doing too. You especially! We haven’t been to a crime scene in ages where you didn’t sniff or lick something.”

The consulting detective immediately wanted to fight back, using one’s senses at a crime scene was a perfectly valid form of evidence gathering. In fact it would be an insult to the crime not to use all available method to observe his surroundings. Instead he kept silent and pondered John’s words.

“You know I’m right, that’s the face you make when I’ve made a good point and you don’t know how to admit it.”

“It is not,” Sherlock protested as he craned his neck to try and see the mirror over the mantel without disturbing John,  “It’s just my face.”

“Mmhmmm…” John trailed off significantly.

“You have have-- brought to my attention a few data points I had not previously considered.”

He flexed his hand experimentally and found that he enjoyed the feeling of John’s waist under him, the stiffness of his heavy jeans and the slight scratch of his cotton vest. Squeezing just a little harder his heart sped up as John huffed and squirmed and hurried to put his own hand on top of Sherlock’s.

“Very well. If I am to conduct practical trials in addition to my theoretical research how do you suggest I begin?”

“I’d suggest you  **begin** by kissing me you idiot.”

 


	7. Sexting with Mycroft

Medical conferences, cases, locum work, cases, traveling (for cases), cases... Due to their often conflicting schedules Sherlock had already decided that he and John would need a way to release sexual tension during periods where they wouldn’t see one another. Which meant he needed to gain even more experience  before he could confidently attempt anything in the field. But there had to be another way to get the information he needed.

Had to be.

Right?

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Mycroft S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** What M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I need something. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** What M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I need you to sext with me. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Go away. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I can’t I’m here for sexting. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** We're not sexting, oh my god! You make me want to tear my hair out! M

_Drama queen._

_Drama Queen! Ha!_

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I wouldn't; there's not much left. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** We are sexting. You have to start I don't know how. S

_Come on, you know you want to know why I’m asking this. Only way to find out is the play the game._

**[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** It just happens. I don't know. M

_And I’ve won._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Oh baby, oh baby I want you. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Don’t do that. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Ever. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Then you start. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Do it Mycroft. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Sherlock, I can't. I have to be getting home. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** You have an entire car ride then. That'll be good, I am under the impression most sexting happens as more conventional intercourse is not available. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** So go- start. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I'm not sexting with you. It's weird. M

_And now this is a tiresome argument. We’re geniuses, surely you’ve evolved past weird?_

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** It's only weird if you end up getting off to it. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Think of the massive favour I'll owe you after this. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I don’t ever start it it just happens. M

_You already tried that brother dearest._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I tried to make start it you said no. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I'm bored, entertain me? ;) S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I don’t have any interesting cases right now. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** That's not what I mean. I'm trying to start sexting as well you know. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I'm changing your name in my phone, I can't do this otherwise. M

_There we go. Glad you’ve accepted your fate._

_Although really he’s getting slow. He should have admitted to himself he agreed to this the moment he continued texting me._

**[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I don't need the constant reminder. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Fine by me. I can even send you someone else's nudes if it helps. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** DON'T SEND ME ANY PHOTOS OF ANYTHING. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I don’t want to see any of it. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Ok, your rules. S

 

\----

 

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Any time now. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I don’t…. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** This is a lot of pressure. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** So it's like an actual sexual situation. Also important. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Here I'll start (again)- I've been thinking a lot about you lately. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Oh my god, sex is not always high pressure, you are a bloody teenager. M

_Stop stalling._

**[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Sherlock, I really just need you to go and get laid. Repeatedly. Really fucking hard. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I'M TRYING. NOW SEXT ME. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** What's on your mind, love? M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I take back the love. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** What's on your mind? M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Catch me off guard. Be aggressive. Use unnecessarily dirty language. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** This is your hook. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Or else be really coy and suggestive. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** And we'll continue to banter a bit. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I’m always aggressive. S

_Ummm..._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Your mouth, on my cock. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Mmm, it has been a while, hasn't it? M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** And you know how hot I get when I've got my mouth around you. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** So it's basically that until you're both reunited or you give up and wank. Got it? M

_You don’t get out of this so easily Mycroft Holmes._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** That can't be it! S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Do you continue to text through the wank? S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Do you live-text the wank? S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Or does that ruin the illusion created by the scene you've been roleplaying? S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I need to know everything Mycroft. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Yes, you touch yourself while you text, it requires a bit of juggling. M

_I wonder if it’s better to hold my mobile or my penis in my dominant hand?_

**[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** You can tell the other person you're touching yourself, but if worded improperly it can come off a little weird. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** This has gotten so hot I have to touch myself. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Right or wrong? S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Right I guess? M

_You can’t guess. You’re the expert!_

**[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I don't know, maybe just go with explaining how hot you are or how close you are. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Fuck that’s right; I’m close now. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Good. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I can't wait to be home, what do you want me to do with you? I have so many ideas. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I want you in the living room and on your knees the moment you get into the house. You're mine tonight. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I want you to fuck me senseless. I want you to choke me until my vision blurs and I completely black out. Then spit on me and tell me I'm scum while I sob my way back into consciousness. M

_……………….._

_What?_

_No. No. No._

_I would have deduced that._

_I would have._

_Would I have?_

_I would have._

_……………….._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I... WHAT HAPPENS NOW? S

_How about-_

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** You'd like that wouldn't you? S

_No- stupid- he just said that. Just because it’s sex doesn’t mean we dumb it down._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Of course you'd like that you just said it... S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Nothing, I just don't want this conversation to ever be something I associate with actual sex that I'm having. M

_Oh thank Christ._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** How about- I want that to do that to you? S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Yeah you do, you love making me your pussy little bitch. M

_Ok you can do this._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** I don’t need to make you anything, you are my bitch. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** You aren't allowed to come until I say you can. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** In fact, you aren't allowed to do anything until I say you can. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** But Sher, I- I mean, sir, I don't know if I can wait...I'm so close already...M

_Order him he said._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** You’ll wait until I come. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Please take me. Stretch me. Fill me. M

_This is stupid. It had better be better with John._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Bend over the couch and feel me move in without wasting any time. S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** How do you end a sext? S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Not like that. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** That was weird. All your wording is weird. M

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I can tell you understand the mechanics but not the mentality. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** What does that even mean? S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** Don't ever try this on a real man. M

_Rude._

**[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Don't try what? Sexting? S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** You’re supposed to be teaching me so that it seems natural. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I can't teach twenty five years of gay sexpertise in a few texts, Sherlock. M

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** The what good are you? S

 **[SMS to Mycroft Holmes]** Goodbye. S

 **[SMS to Sherlock Holmes]** I hate you. M


	8. Putting it all Together

Cooking, flirting, hand holding, kissing. Check, check, check, and check.

Raising his hands in the air and slashing forward Sherlock deleted the memory of his **failed** attempt to learn the art of virtual relations through his brother.

_Useless twat._

He paced the halls of his mind palace as he talked himself through his studies, rehearsing his script and running through the various scenarios that he projected were likely to occur. Based on their snog on the couch a few days prior he immediately dismissed the myriad of entirely negative possibilities that he’d tracked wherein John rejected him. Instead he chose to focus on his most viable options going forward-

  1. After a period of exponentially decreasing awkwardness the two men would fall into ~~a predictable~~ a comfortable pattern. They would solve cases, they would go out for dinner, they would come home and fuck.

  2. After a period of exponentially decreasing awkwardness Sherlock would find sexual relations incredibly edifying and an excellent opportunity to clear his mind. He and John would continue to have higher than projected levels of sex.

  3. After a period of exponentially decreasing awkwardness Sherlock would find sexual relations incredibly dull and much like eating and sleeping prevent him from processing information in an efficient manner. He would only participate in sex at John’s instigation or when he could read in John’s mannerisms that the doctor needed to find sexual release.

  4. There would be no period of decreasing awkwardness and the couple would remain stilted and at odds whilst engaging in a regular sexual relationship.

  5. There would be no period of decreasing awkwardness and the couple would remain stilted and at odds until their sexual relationship slowly fizzled out over a period of months.

  6. There-----------------------------



His thoughts cut off as a hand ran through his hair, sending small electrical-like charges down his spine and inexplicably into his groin.

“What?” he said sharply as he startled out of his mind palace.

“Christ Sherlock, sorry didn’t realise you weren’t- sorry,” John replied stilted and slightly awkward as he swiftly pulled his hands away.

Instead of responding the consulting detective merely waved his hand. He paused for a moment before reaching out to place John’s hand back in his hair and manually manipulated the shorter man’s fingers to rub across his scalp.

The doctor’s hesitance faded, replaced by a small quirk of his lips, “You could ask you know. When you like something.”

“Irrelevant, this was easier. Sit on the arm so you can stay longer,” Sherlock directed.

Willfully ignoring his flatmate John moved around the back of the chair and leaned down so that his mouth was level with Sherlock’s ear. “No thanks,” he announced cheerfully.

Another of the currents ran down his spine, leaving him with a small trail of gooseflesh down his arms and the distinct urge to squirm.

“Like that then?” the same voice breathed.

_Obviously.  
_

He’d meant to be scathing, he’d meant to say it. He really did. Instead a rushed, “Yes,” came out of his mouth.

_Damn._

He could feel the doctor’s smirk.

_Although perhaps this is a time to ‘communicate’ as requested?_

Ignoring the tingling in his lower back and the bumps lining his arms the consulting detective cleared his throat and said, “I believe I am now ready to enter into a sexual relationship. I have completed my preliminary research and am now sufficiently educated in theoretical practice to begin a more focused physical study.”

He could feel John’s chest expand and contract in short bursts. He was suppressing laughter. The bastard.

Making as if to stand Sherlock continued imperiously, “However if you’ve changed your mind and now wish our dynamic to remain-”

John cut him off and braced his free arm across the taller man’s chest, pinning him to the chair, “Not at all, I’m just enjoying you, you know, being you.”

Another shiver from the contact. Valently Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Who else would I be?”

“Exactly,” the doctor leaned down a bit further and nipped Sherlock’s ear lobe. “Still don’t want to talk about it then?”

“That would depend on what you prefer, a comprehensive write up of my studies or a demonstration?”

John didn’t pause before answering, “Demonstration, definitely a demonstration.”

By unspoken agreement the two men made their way from the livingroom to Sherlock’s bedroom. They moved quickly, neither wanting to wait or have to stop once they’d started.

Without any words Sherlock flung his suit coat over the open armoire door before systematically moving to his shirt buttons. As he worked at them he ordered John, “Take your clothes off.”

The blond made a mental note to correct Sherlock’s misapprehension that he could be ordered around later, for now everything being said made sense and John hastily complied.

With little ceremony or stopping to admire one another the men climbed on the bed and immediately began to touch. John focused on Sherlock’s neck and chest, a pale expanse of skin that had fascinated him for months, teasing him and flaunting itself through taut clothing and loose scarves. Keeping his hands wrapped around the consulting detective’s biceps he first pressed dry kisses along the columns of sinew that stood out as the prone man threw his head back.

Data flooded Sherlock’s senses and he went slack under John’s touch, all plans of his own temporarily on hold. When the doctor moved from dry kisses to filthy wet, sucking ones he gasped and his hands jumped up to rest lightly behind John’s neck.

_This is---- wet-- hot-- hot as in physically warm-- also hot as in sexual arousing-- pleasing-- more gooseflesh? -- I think I’d like him to bite?-- Yes I do want biting-- how do you get him to bite? -- **OH!** \-------------- he doesn’t need prompting-- varying pressure and irrational placement of kisses seem to increase my pleasure-- licking after a bite is also pleasing-- too much saliva would probably feel uncomfortable after a short period of time however-- I am four times more aroused that I anticipated.--_

As Sherlock continued to passively process data John moved on, stroking his hands down from his partner’s biceps to reach more of skin. With each new touch a burst of sensation begged to be processed and eventually Sherlock had to put any kind of analysis on hold, letting it all back up rather than try to sort as he experienced

Once the doctor satisfied his initial cravings he moved down, purposely licking a trail to Sherlock’s groin. But before his mouth could touch anything outside of the lanky man’s outer thigh, Sherlock protested, “Stop.”

With a startled expression John froze and looked up to see what was the matter, “What? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Chest heaving, hair mussed, and cheeks a pale blush colour Sherlock looked like something straight out of one of the romance novels Mrs. Hudson loved. The consulting detective took a moment to compose himself (and reorder his thoughts) before answering, “Statistically, introductory sexual experiences last half the time as those with two partners who have previous sexual experience with one another. At the moment I would estimate that I am well beneath even that meagre statistic.”

John continued to stare as he parsed through all of those words.

“So you’re going to last less time than you’d like? Or more time?”

Despite his romance novel appearance, Sherlock’s tone was entirely his own, “Less John, why would I stop you if I believed my endurance to be higher than average?”

A small smile crept onto John’s face, “Right then. What can we do to help you then?”

“I believe an opportunity to reciprocate your recent goodwill would help alleviate some of the worst pressure.”

John took his time to crawl up Sherlock’s body, dragging his body up his partner’s for maximum tease. He didn’t want the consulting detective to come quite yet but… surely he deserved a bit of fun after three weeks of waiting. Finally at eye level he leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to Sherlock’s lips before rolling to one side and resting his hands behind his head. The picture of masculine confidence, the doctor splayed his knees while making eye contact.

“Go ahead.”

As usual, defying expectations, Sherlock didn’t touch right away. Instead he hovered over his partner taking in each mole, light blond hair, and wrinkle that adorned his body. Only once the consulting detective felt reasonably sure he had an accurate picture in his mind did he lean down a press a kiss to John’s pectorals.

Much like the consulting detective, John found himself a bit overwhelmed at skin on skin contact after so many weeks of being unsure as to what, if anything, would happen. Unlike his partner, the doctor didn’t lie passive. He moaned, he pressed up into the lips, he moved Sherlock’s hands to touch him where he wanted it, he wiggled and shifted to force more contact between the two of them. In short, he wrecked havoc on any sort of “scientific” process the brown-haired man could have wanted to take.

And Sherlock loved it.

Eventually, after much less time than he’d initially planned, the consulting detective grew weary of exploration instead choosing to make their encounter more mutual. With all his usual bravado he reached between their bodies and took firm grasp of their cocks. Slowly he stroked upwards, twisting his hand at the head like he’d read.

“Fuck yes,” John swore.

A few more strokes and both men were panting. But abruptly the doctor pulled away.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock demanded harshly.

“Lube.”

_I’m not ready for that._

_Don’t be an idiot, you are one of the smartest men in England, you can be ready._

Summoning his confident public persona, and losing of his spontaneous warmth in the process, Sherlock sat up as well, “As this is both our first sexual experience together as well as my first experience with sex in any regard I assume you would like to penetrate me rather than the opposite? The celebrated taking of my virginity.”

John turned around, lube in hand, a confused look stuck between his eyes.

“Err- neither? I just thought it’d help things along the way they were going. Unless you want to?-- do that? What did you say about virginity?”

“By physically penetrating me with your penis, even if my anus is only a figurative stand-in for a vagina, you will be taking my virginity in a manner such as is-”

“No, stop,” John cut him off mid-stream, “No, no, no, that’s not-” settling the lube down he pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out deeply.

In a flat tone Sherlock said, “I’ve upset you.”

“Not upset, surprised. I didn’t think you’d- well, think- that I wouldn’t be able to tell that you didn’t want to er- do that.”

John cringed at his awkward language, bracing himself for Sherlock’s derision.  

But the consulting detective looked slightly confused himself. His response would have been funny if both men weren’t so tense, “What? John use proper English please, I’m naked and aroused I don’t have the focus to try and parse through euphemisms.”

Another sigh from the doctor. He tried again. “I’m surprised that you believed I wouldn’t be able to tell that you didn’t want to engage in anal sex tonight. Also, I’m a little hurt that you’d just go through with it rather than tell me. This whole time I’ve asked you to talk to me, it’s not that hard.”

Sherlock looked down, stroking his hands up and down his thighs as he measured his partner’s words, “I’m not ready for anal sex at the moment although I am positive that I will be in the near future. At the moment I find myself over stimulated with new information and I fear that attempting to--”

John leaned forward and cut off the explanation with a kiss, “Ok, yes, thank you. You don’t need to explain it all at once that’s enough for now. Can we go back to before now?”

Some measure of equanimity returned Sherlock opened his mouth to argue the vague semantics of the doctor’s statement only to be shut up with another kiss before he could start.

“Nope, stop. From now on less talking in bed, more talking before bed. Lesson learned.”

Together the two men lay back and after a moments silence so each could shake off the misunderstanding they began to kiss again. At John’s maneuvering their hands wrapped around one another backs at first, as if they hadn’t just avoided a fight and were doing this for the first time tonight. Eventually the kisses moved from reassuring and slow to hard and biting. Hands roamed across large expanses of skin and Sherlock reached back to grab at the forgotten lube, messily opening the bottle and drizzling a cold stream on their cocks.

“Shit,” John exclaimed, bucking forward as the gel hit him.

Quickly the consulting detective moved his hand down to grasp both of their cocks, stroking from the up to the tip and back again. On the first downstroke he gasped and leaned forward, teeth latching onto John’s shoulder and biting down.

“Just like that yeah,” encouraged the doctor relishing the sting of each of Sherlock’s teeth.

Sherlock continued to stroke, rhythmically pumping his hips in time with his hand. With his left hand he pulled one of John’s arms off his arse and twined their fingers together for extra pressure.

“Jesus Christ,” breathed John.

Finally picking up the pace the two men rushed to completion. For all his experience the doctor wasn’t far behind his companion in coming, deep harsh grunts having replaced his earlier vocalizations.

Lying entangled in the middle of the bed, a wet spot trapped between them, their hands still together around their softening cocks, the two men kissed again, their lips again meeting softly, without haste or teeth. Pulling away it was Sherlock who left the room for a wet flannel to clean their skin and a towel so cover the sheets.

Back in bed he drifted to sleep, arm flung out on top of John’s chest.

_Note- buy different types of lube tomorrow to begin experimentation on the most effective brand._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who stuck with me to the very end. Again I'm so sorry that this chapter too so long to get up, I stalled out on the story but had to finish as I didn't want to leave ya'll hanging.  
> Cheers!!


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